


JohnLock: Spectacles

by KingOfHearts709



Category: Sherlock - Fandom, johnlock - Fandom
Genre: Cute, Embarassment, Fluff, Glasses, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:38:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4328823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingOfHearts709/pseuds/KingOfHearts709
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's Sherlock hiding from John?</p>
            </blockquote>





	JohnLock: Spectacles

**Author's Note:**

> Remember the headcanon where we all thought maybe Sherlock was supposed to be wearing glasses and he just didn't around crime scenes because he thought everyone would make fun of him? Yeah. Good times. xoxo

John's POV  
I ran behind Sherlock, my handgun hitting against my side as we arrived at the crime scene.  
"John," he said as he lifted the police tape for me. I slowed down and put my hands in my pockets as I ducked under.  
"Body's inside?" I asked Donovan, who was standing by the police car.  
"Upstairs," she confirmed. I nodded and followed Sherlock again, who was already through the door to the house. God, he ran too fast. Not that I minded, of course. I went through the door and up the stairs.  
"Here," Lestrade said as he handed me a blue suit and gloves. I slipped both on and went into the room where Sherlock was inspecting the dead man's body.  
"Anything?" I asked. Sherlock didn't answer, but beckoned me to look at it with him. Reluctant, I walked and kneeled next to the face, looking over his lifeless eyes and open mouth.  
"Came into town... a week ago," Sherlock started. I looked over at him with expectancy, but didn't hear anything more. I was starting to think he didn't know until he put his hands underneath the man's head to look at his face. I guess he was still making deductions. He squinted and looked closely at the hairline. Very closely. Close enough that if he wasn't careful, he'd accidentally bump heads.  
"Tell me, John, what do you see?" Sherlock asked. I looked down at the body and flew my eyes over it. I pressed my fingers on the man's neck, then on his wrist.  
"Been dead probably six hours," I stated. "There's marks on his neck, so he could've been strangled." I raised my eyebrows and looked at Sherlock, who was still squinting his eyes.  
"Sherlock, you okay?" I asked him. He looked at me and stopped squinting.  
"Fine," he said, then went back to his deductions. I suddenly wondered what Sherlock would be like with glasses...  
***  
"Sherlock, I'm home," I said as I walked up the stairs to 221B. I pushed open the door to see Sherlock facing away from me with a case file in hand. I decided not to bother him, because obviously he was too focused to notice I had walked through the door. My shopping bags in hand, I headed to the kitchen to put everything away in its rightful place. Just as I was going to put the milk in the fridge...  
"Oh, God, Sherlock," I muttered as I caught sight of the bag of eyes on the shelf. Jesus, it was frightening. I quickly shut my own eyes and shoved the milk in, slamming the fridge shut.  
"Eyes, Sherlock?" I said, annoyed, as I left the kitchen. "Thumbs and ears, sure. I can deal with that. But eyes?" He didn't answer me. "For God's sake." I walked up to Sherlock and flipped him around by his shoulder, causing him to look up from the file at me.  
He was wearing glasses. Big, thick rimmed, round spectacles. His eyes looked at least twice as big now, especially when he widened them in shock. He opened his mouth to say something, but didn't, and instead dropped the file and ran to his room in a panicked hurry, shutting and locking the door behind him. I stared at the door, trying to make sense of everything. Then it hit me.  
Sherlock must be short-sighted. It was probably why he was squinting so much on our last case at the crime scene. I sighed, walked over to Sherlock's door, and knocked.  
"Go away, John," Sherlock muttered angrily.  
"Sherlock, let me in," I pressed. He didn't answer. "Sherlock, please, just talk to me." There was a long sigh, then the unlocking of the door. I turned the handle and poked my head in to see Sherlock sulking on the edge of his bed with his head down.  
"You okay?" I asked cautiously as I went further into the room.  
"Obviously not, John," Sherlock snapped. I went over to the side he was sitting on and sat next to him. He was holding his glasses in his hand, clenching them tightly. I was sure that if he gripped any harder, they would break.  
"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked him.  
"Because it's pointless," Sherlock replied, then held up the spectacles. "I can barely read without these, and it makes it hard during our cases. I can't see anything clearly."  
"Why don't you just get contacts?"  
"They irritate my eyes." It was silent for a moment. "Look, it doesn't matter if I can't see everything. I don't like wearing these spectacles because they make me look funny, and I don't need anyone having a reason to degrade me for-"  
"Sherlock," I interrupted him, and he dropped his hand back to his lap. "Did you honestly think that I would make fun of you for this?" I looked hard at him for an answer.  
"Maybe..." he mumbled quietly.  
"Sherlock, you know me well enough already that I wouldn't do that to you." He looked up at me, finally, with what looked like consideration.  
"Honestly?" he asked in a soft voice. Something I never got to hear often.  
"Honestly," I assured, then looked at the glasses in his hand. "Here." I took them from his fingers and placed them on his face where they belonged. "Much better, I think. It suits you." I smiled genuinely. I had to say, he did look much better with his spectacles on. Almost more... attractive.  
"Thank you, John," he said suddenly, snapping me out of my thoughts and back to reality.  
"You're welcome, Sherlock," I said happily. I stood up, about to go back to the living area when a pair of arms yanked me back down.  
Right before a pair of lips pressed against my own.  
Wait, was Sherlock kissing me? The Sherlock Holmes?  
Before I could even register what was happening, those lips pulled away from me, and I was met with Sherlock's pink tinted face. My face went red, I knew it.  
"I mean it, John," he whispered. "Thank you." I could feel a smile creep onto my face as I leaned my head against his.  
"Don't mention it."


End file.
